CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Christian Sutherland couldn’t sleep. Not even at two in the morning. Not since he had heard about Lord Hawkins, who wasn’t Lord Hawkins at all, but the duke of Carlyle’s older brother, the man who should have been duke, a man sentenced to hang for his father’s murder.

Christian didn’t believe it. Not since he had come to know Jason Sinclair. Not after the too-convenient deaths of Celia Brookhurst and Sir Wallace Stanton. Not after what Mary had said.

Too many coincidences, too much good fortune for the duke, a man Christian now realized was nothing but an unprincipled, utterly ruthless fraud.

But what to do about it? How could he help Sinclair? And what should he do about Mary?

Standing at the window of his bedchamber overlooking a corner of Hyde Park, Christian thought of the woman he loved and knew the choice she had made in staying with Carlyle was a drastically wrong one. Considering the things the duke had done, she owed him nothing and neither did he. And he feared that Mary was in danger.

Christian had heard the story of the meeting Litchfield had arranged with the magistrate at the docks, as had everyone else in the ton. He had also heard of Mary’s untimely arrival with Velvet Sinclair and her efforts to help Velvet’s husband. Mary had gone against Carlyle. Avery must have been furious. God only knew what he might have done.

The thought of Mary suffering at the hands of the ruthless duke made Christian sick to his stomach.

Unconsciously, he braced his hands on the windowsill, his fingers curling into the wood. He would send her a note, he thought, demand that she meet him as soon as she could leave without causing undo notice. But what if Avery intercepted the message? God’s blood, anything might occur. It was simply too dangerous for Mary.

Clenching his jaw in frustration, Christian began to pace in front of the window. He had to see her. He would carry her away by force if that was what it took to get her out of there. She loved him and he loved her. In time he could make her see reason.

He strode up and down, his hands balled, his jaw tight with anger and worry. He might have worn a path in the carpet if the butler hadn’t knocked just then at his bedchamber door.

“Excuse me, milord.” George Marlin, the Sutherland family butler for more than twenty years, blinked heavy-lidded, sleep-filled eyes, his stocking cap bobbing atop his head.

“Yes, George, what is it?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you at this time of night, milord, but the lady who came here before … I believe her name is Mary?”

Christian went tense. “Yes, yes. What about her?”

“She is arrived downstairs.”

Christian’s eyes slid closed on a momentary pang of relief. “Thank God.” It lasted only an instant, turning rapidly to worry. Had something happened to Mary? Was she injured or in some sort of trouble? Christian strode toward the door, the little man racing along behind him.

“I know ’tis highly irregular, your lordship. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have admitted her at such an hour, of course, but after the last time—”

“You did exactly correct, George.”

“I’ve shown her into the White Drawing Room, sir.”

Christian nodded his approval. Descending the stairs two at a time, he slammed into the drawing room, nearly colliding headlong with Mary. Pale blue eyes, wide and uncertain, flew up to his face.

“Christian…”

“Mary, thank God you have come.” She didn’t fight him when he gathered her into his arms. “Are you all right? He hasn’t hurt you? He hasn’t…?”

Mary glanced away. “He was so angry. He said I had betrayed him by trying to help Lady Hawkins. I have never seen him so enraged.”

“Tell me he did not hurt you. I will kill him if he has harmed a single hair on your head.”

“He meant to punish me. I think he would have forced himself on me, but his man, Willard, arrived and apparently he had more important matters to attend to than dealing with an errant wife. He’s been busy since then, but I knew that as soon as he was finished with whatever he has been doing…”

Christian held her away from him. “You’re not leaving,” he said in a voice steel-edged with determination. “If I have to tie you up and carry you away in order to keep you with me then that is what I will do.”

Mary gave him the gentlest of smiles. Tears collected in her lovely blue eyes, and a single drop slid down her cheek. “I’m not leaving. Not without you. Not if you want me to stay.”

Christian’s gaze was fierce. “I want you, Mary. I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you. I should never have let you go back to Carlyle.”

A shudder slid through her small frame. “He’s a murderer, Christian. He killed my father, and now I am convinced he killed his own father as well.”

“I think you’re right, Mary. I should have listened to you in the first place.” Christian held her tightly again.

“We have to help Jason and Velvet. What can we do?”

“I don’t know. The judges haven’t yet made their decision. There is always the chance he will be acquitted.”

“There isn’t the slightest chance of that happening and you know it.”

Christian sighed. Mary was right. The judges would never acquit, not against a duke, not without more evidence. “Whatever happens, first we must make certain that you are safe. I shall send you to my family in Kent. Once they understand the circumstances of what has occurred and that we are committed to being together, they’ll do everything in their power to help us.”

“I can’t leave yet. Not until Avery is made to pay for the crimes he has committed.”

Christian started to argue, but the look in Mary’s eyes warned him not to.

“I’ve an idea, Christian. I think I might be able to be of some help.”

“Go on,” he said.

“The authorities seem to have abandoned their efforts to find the man who murdered Lady Brookhurst. Apparently, they have little to go on. But if Avery is behind the deed, as I suspect he is, then it must have been done by one of his men. The gossipmongers are saying Jason is the man who did it, that even Velvet’s description of the murderer fits her husband.”

“Ah … yes, I see where you are leading. Whoever committed the murder must be similar in appearance, or at least a man of Jason’s approximate height and build.”

“And with his same dark hair.” Mary tightened her hold on his arm. “There is just such a man in Avery’s employ. He rarely comes to the house and almost always uses the outside entrance to Avery’s study when he does, but upon occasion I have seen him. His name is Willard, the man I mentioned before.”

Christian mulled that over. It was possible. Then again, it might be merely coincidence. “It’s a long shot, but I suppose it’s better than doing nothing. And if we can find the man who killed Celia, odds are he’ll lead us straight to Avery.”

“My thoughts exactly. Surely it is worth a try.”

Christian gently kissed her. “Anything is worth a try, my love.” Unfortunately that didn’t include calling the murderous bastard out, Christian thought with a hot surge of malice. The notion of a duel held a strong appeal. Stronger by the moment. Christian was a crack shot and Avery’s death would save everyone a whole lot of trouble.

But the fact was, with the duke out of the way, there would be even less evidence to help clear his brother.

Jason Sinclair would almost certainly hang.

*   *   *

As promised, Litchfield arrived promptly at ten o’clock the next morning to accompany Velvet to the prison. She was dressed and ready, and waiting anxiously for his arrival. She wanted to see Jason, make certain that he was all right.

At the sound of the marquess’s heavy footfalls in the entry, Velvet hurried to greet him. His haggard, tightly drawn expression sent her heart slamming up against her breastbone.

“Lucien—dear God, what has happened?” Wordlessly, he took her arm, guiding her into the drawing room and firmly closing the door. “Please, my lord, you must tell me what has occurred.”

“Perhaps you should sit down, my lady.”

“Lucien, please, you are scaring me.”

He took a weary breath, the muscles tense along his jaw. “I’m sorry, Velvet. An hour ago, the magistrates sent word of their decision. Their deliberations took even less time than expected.” His face looked even grimmer, and Velvet sank down on the sofa.

“Dear Lord, they still believe he is guilty.” Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She blinked to hold them steady, but they started to slide down her cheeks.

The marquess sat down beside her, gently captured her hand. “You mustn’t give up, Velvet. Avery is guilty. Somewhere there is evidence to prove it. There is still time for us to find it.”

The words passed through her mind as if they had not been spoken, muffled by the ringing that had risen in her ears. “The original sentence … it is to stand?”

“Yes.”

“When?” It came out as the merest whisper.

Lucien gave a soft sigh of regret. “Monday.”

Monday. Of course. Execution Day. Four more days and Jason would be hanged.

“The evidence we presented was simply not enough to sway them against a duke of the realm,” the marquess continued. “And there was the matter of Celia’s murder to contend with. It was simply more expedient to lay the blame for that at Jason’s feet as well.”

Velvet bit her lip, barely able to make sense of Lucien’s words. Jason would hang. In only four more days.

“We’ll continue our search for more information,” he was saying. “Barnstable and Ludington are working round the clock. They’re bound to turn up something.”

Velvet tried to smile, to agree with him, make both of them feel better. But the corners of her mouth began to wobble. She turned away and began to cry instead.

Comforting arms surrounded her, held her close against a solid chest. She sobbed like a child against his shoulder.

“Easy, love,” he whispered. “You mustn’t give up yet. It isn’t fair to Jason.”

Her throat ached. Her chest felt so tight every breath sent a fearful jolt of pain into her lungs. Still, she forced a measure of steel into her spine and sat up straighter on the sofa.

“You’re right, of course. We must be strong for Jason.” He handed her his handkerchief and she dabbed it against her eyes. “Does he … has anyone told him the judges decision?”

“There was no point in waiting. Parmenter went to see him. He knows by now.”

Her chin went up. “Then we must go to him with all haste. He mustn’t give up. We must not let him.”

Lucien didn’t argue, though in truth he believed his friend would prefer to be alone. There were things a man needed time to adjust to, and coming to grips with his own mortality was certainly one of them. Facing the hangman for a crime he didn’t commit was a task he couldn’t imagine.

Still, Lucien knew better than to argue. Velvet would go to the man she loved and nothing he could say would stop her. It was the kind of love he had never really believed in. In a way, he envied his friend.

“I must caution you, my lady. By now Jason should have been moved from the common side to the master’s side of the prison, but the place is still unbearable. The experience won’t be a pleasant one.”

“I’m well aware the vision of hell Newgate is, my lord. Mr. Ludington accompanied me there last eve.”

“What!”

“Jason needed me. I had to go.”

“But they had yet to move him. Surely you didn’t go down into—”

“I had to see him. I went where he had been taken.”

The marquess grunted some unintelligible response, then shook his head. “Jason said you were a handful. I am only just beginning to see what he means. Remind me to choose a pleasantly docile wife when the time comes for marriage.”

Velvet forced a smile, little more than a weary curling of the lips. “A docile wife would bore you in a thrice, my lord, but I suppose we shall have to wait and see.”

She hadn’t slept at all these past few nights and her body ached with worry and fatigue. But the marquess already felt responsible for her. He was worried enough without adding to his burden.

Litchfield made another unpleasant sound. Accepting her cloak from the butler in the entry, he draped it around her shoulders, offered her his arm, and they set off for the prison.

*   *   *

Jason stared through the bars of his cell. The stone-walled room was spacious and swept amazingly clean; he remembered from before how much better life was on the master’s side of the prison.

Money was the key, as it seemed to be in most things. Yet no matter how much a person had, it couldn’t seem to change what fate had in store for him. Perhaps it was true that money was the root of all evil.

Or was it merely the lengths to which some people would go in order to get it?

Like his brother, Avery, driven to the murder of his own father. Like arranging Celia’s death, and that of Sir Wallace Stanton.

Jason looked out through the bars on the window of his cell, letting the sunlight lessen the chill that no amount of heat could completely dispel. From where he stood, he could look down at the prisoners prowling the courtyard, see them crabbing about in their dismal rags, dirty specters trading for scraps of food or tobacco, or another tattered bit of clothing. Jason preferred to look upward, toward the patch of blue he could see above the gray stone walls, to the turrets and windows, domes and spires of London.

Such a vibrant, sprawling city. Until his return, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed England. The lush, rolling green fields, the moors and forests, the cooling mists that hung over the verdant landscape. Even the fog that crept with such stealth through the crowded streets of the city.

England was lost to him now, like the dream of revenge he had come home to attain. In only four days, he would hang. Only four more days.

There was a time he wouldn’t have cared, a time he longed for death, would have accepted its arrival as a friend. The years had changed that.

And the days he had shared with Velvet.

Jason thought of her now, thought of how much he had come to love her, and regretted as he had a dozen times, the pain he had caused her. He had never meant to hurt her, yet from the beginning that was exactly what he had done. He recalled her visit the night before, the secrets he’d laid bare before her, and his chest painfully tightened. She had driven his demons away, brought him into the healing light, if only for these last few precious days.

It was the most cherished gift she had ever given him.

An image of her face rose up as if she were there, the soft pink lips and tilted golden brown eyes, the fringe of thick dark lashes, her fiery auburn hair. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the exact feel of her skin, the full, perfect curve of her breast. She had tempted him from the moment he lifted her up on his horse. Thoughts of her tempted him still. Yet he should have left her alone.

Jason set his jaw, his mind firming with solid determination. She would listen to him in this, he vowed. He would give something back to her for all that she had given to him. In this, his final request, she would do as he commanded. He would have it no other way.

*   *   *

Velvet walked the dank, thick-walled passageways in silence, grateful for Lucien’s solid support. She had come to treasure the marquess’s friendship, would need it, she knew, to make it through the days ahead.

In the meantime, there was Jason to consider. Velvet did not intend to let her despair show through to the man she loved. She would do anything to prevent that. Pausing for a moment outside the cell, she felt Lucien’s silvery eyes on her, the light in them dark with regret and concern.

“Are you sure you are ready for this?”

She lifted her chin and forced herself to smile. “Of course I am ready.”

Lucien nodded to the guard, who unlocked the door, and she and the marquess walked in. Jason was waiting, a smile on his face she hadn’t expected. Wordlessly, she went into his arms, felt them tighten almost painfully around her. He held her for long, heartrending moments, then eased himself away.

“Before either of you gets too morbid,” he said, “I’m fine, now that I’m on this side of the prison where at least I am able to see. Parmenter has been here. He has relayed the bitter news, so you are spared that painful duty. I am happy to say, the man remains optimistic, just as I do, that something will turn up before the sentence is carried out on Monday.”

“Barnstable and Ludington are working full-time,” Lucien said. “They’ve half a dozen extra men at their disposal, more if they need them. I’ve told them not to leave a single stone unturned.”

Velvet moved closer against him. “We’ll find something, Jason. And even as we speak, Lucien is attempting to set up a meeting with the king and his ministers. There is every chance that his majesty may step in on your behalf.”

But Lucien had warned her against hoping too strongly for such a move. The king had far less power these days, acting only on recommendations from his ministers. The ministers needed support from parliament. Odds were slim they would risk parliamentary disfavor by going against six powerful judges of the Inns at Court.

Jason smiled again, looking almost cheerful. Too cheerful, Velvet suddenly realized, and her heart lurched painfully up under her ribs. He fully believed he was going to die this Monday next, but he was determined to protect her from the truth for as long as he could.

Velvet simply could not bear it. For a moment she feared she might burst into tears, but Jason’s presence so close at hand gave her the strength to stay calm.

Instead she glanced up and merely returned his smile, allowing him to play the game, hoping it would somehow help to ease him.

They talked for a while, speaking of their strategy, things Lucien and his men were looking into that might turn up the evidence they needed to free him. Things none of them believed would really work.

Then Lucien left them alone. “I’ve business to attend,” he said. “I’ll return in a couple of hours to see Velvet returned safely home.” He cocked a brow at Jason. “Do you think it’s safe to leave her, or is there a chance your wife will attempt a jail break while I’m gone?”

Jason smiled. “If she tries it, I hope she succeeds.”

Even Velvet smiled. “If there was the slightest chance for success, you may be certain I would try it. However, from the number of guards posted outside Jason’s door, I doubt there is much hope of his escape.”

Lucien clamped Jason on the shoulder. “Hold good thoughts, my friend.” With that he quit the cell.

Velvet surveyed the barren interior, noting the low rope bed in one corner with its narrow corn husk mattress, the single wooden chair and scarred wooden table.

“I can’t believe you are actually here,” she said into the silence. “It’s as though I am in some sort of trance. Any moment I expect to awaken.”

“Perhaps you shall,” he said softly. “Lucien has always been a miracle worker.”

Velvet shook her head, trying to clear away the numbness she’d been fighting since the night of Jason’s arrest. “It isn’t fair. You don’t belong here, Jason. You didn’t eight years ago, and you don’t now.” She glanced up at him. “Mr. Barnstable is working to find new evidence. The moment he does, we shall take it to the judges. The court will put an end to this nonsense once and for all, and then you can come home.”

She reached toward him, smoothed back a lock of his dark hair, felt the strands curling softly beneath her fingers. “We’ll be a family, Jason. A real family, just as I once dreamed.”

He smiled at her sadly. “Was that your dream, Velvet? That we would be a family?”

She looked into his dear, handsome face. “I used to think how it might be, if only you would stay. I want to have your children, Jason. I want to wake up beside you and know that you belong there, that you will not leave.”

“I love you, Duchess. I don’t think I could have left you even if I had tried.” He kissed her then, a tender kiss full of love and sadness, heavy with regret and promises they knew he could not keep. Jason deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth as he might have claimed her body, imprinting a memory of himself upon her for all time.

“Make love to me, Jason,” she whispered, clinging to his shoulders. “Here. Now. Give me your baby.”

In the past, he would have drawn away, wouldn’t have wanted the closeness. Now she saw that he was tempted. Hunger and need glittered in the fierce blue of his eyes. Love for her he made no effort to hide.

Slowly he pulled away. “I want to, Velvet, but I can’t. Not here. Not in this foul place. I want your memories of me to be sweet ones, filled with the passion and love we shared.” He eased her farther away, holding her at arm’s length so that he could look into her face.

“I want you to promise me something. It is the last favor of you that I will ever ask.”

Her heart squeezed. Her eyes burned. He was saying what she did not want to hear—that he would not be returning home. Velvet shook her head.

“You can ask it of me once you are out of here. Tomorrow I’ll come back and—”

“No.” His grip grew tight on her shoulders. “The favor I want is for you to stay home. I don’t want you to come here again.”

“No! You can’t ask that of me. I love you. I want to be with you. I—”

“I don’t want you to see me locked up in this place and I don’t want you to watch me hang. I want your word, Velvet. I want your promise that you will do this for me, grant me this one last request.”

Her throat closed up, ached until she couldn’t speak. Tears filled her eyes and a flood of moisture slid down her cheeks. “I can’t. I have to see you. I have to be with you.”

“Please, Velvet. Do it for my sake. Do it because you love me.”

The ache in her throat spread into her chest. Oh, God, she ached all over. “Jason…”

“I love you, Duchess. If things were different, if I was able to come back home, I’d be the husband of your dreams. I’d do everything in my power to make you happy. I’d never leave you, Velvet. Never.” He pressed his mouth over hers, softly stilling the tremor in her lips. “But that isn’t going to happen. And because it is not, I want your word, your solemn promise that you will never come here again.”

She clung to him, unable to keep from crying, holding him while her body shook with tears. “I love you,” she whispered.

“Then do this last thing I ask. Do it for me, Duchess. Do it for me.”

She didn’t want to say yes. She wanted to be with him every hour, every minute that they had left. But it wasn’t what he wanted, and so at last she agreed. “I’ll do as you wish.”

“And you won’t come to Tyburn. I couldn’t bear to think of you there.”

“No, I won’t come to Tyburn.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

Powerful arms crushed her against him. He held her while she cried, neither of them speaking, neither pulling away. Finally he released his hold, his eyes touching hers one last time, then going over her head to the window in the door to the cell. Lucien had returned. It was time for her to leave.

Lifting her chin with his hands, he gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You’ve always been strong, Velvet. Stronger than any woman I’ve ever know. Be strong for me now.”

Velvet blinked to clear her vision. She could hardly bear to look at him, to gaze into those blue, blue eyes she might never see again. Raising on tiptoe, she kissed his mouth, her lips trembling, the kiss a sweet farewell filled with yearning and all the love she felt for him. It was all she had left to give him, all he would allow her to give.

Jason returned the kiss with a slow, aching tenderness that burned a hole straight into her heart.

“I won’t let you die,” she whispered. “I won’t let them take you from me.”

Jason pressed a kiss against her forehead. “God go with you, my love.”

Turning away, moving like a sleepwalker toward the open door, Velvet left the cell.

She didn’t look back. She did not dare.

Instead she let Lucien guide her down the passageway, the heavy stone walls blurred by a thick veil of tears.

“He asked me not to return,” she whispered. “He made me promise.”

Lucien sighed. “I thought he might do that.”

“We have to save him. We have to find a way.”

But Lucien did not answer. There was nothing left to say.

*   *   *

“At last! After all the misery my beloved brother has caused me, the time for his comeuppance is finally at hand.” Avery smiled as he tossed the Morning Chronicle onto his desk and stared up at Baccy Willard, who stood on the opposite side. It was all he could do to keep from gleefully grinning. “The bloody bastard hangs on the morrow.”

Baccy made no reply. He hated hangings, felt sorry for any poor sod who wound up on the three-legged mare. It bothered him that his master always seemed to enjoy other people’s misfortunes. Even the death of his own brother.

“What about the girl?” Baccy asked, unable to keep the dread from showing in his face. “You still want me to kill ’er?”

Avery had already pondered the question. “For the present, leave her be. With my brother gone, there’s no more reason for her to stir up trouble, and even if she does, no one will believe her. The magistrates will hardly be willing to admit they hanged an innocent man.”

“What about yer wife?”

Avery stiffened. The subject was a sore one. The mousy little bitch had the unmitigated gall to run away. “We know where she has gone. And everyone else believes I have simply sent the frail little creature back to the country. Since time is not a factor, I shall deal with Balfour at my leisure and once I have done so, take my errant wife in hand and see that she is brought home.” And beat her silly once he got her there. The woman would learn the hard way the consequences of trying to best him. She would not try it again.

“In the meantime,” he added with malicious satisfaction, “we shall simply sit back and enjoy the hanging.”

Baccy frowned, but Avery could hardly wait.